Ino couldn't help but snicker to herself. That hilarious song her theater addict of a cousin sent her a link of? It was true—there was at least one Starbucks in each block.

(Well, not literally, of course, because how in hell would they earn enough to go by if they were competitors of each other? Such was the magic of hyperbole employed in poems, prose, and songs, in various attempts to save lyricism. Ahem—excuse her minor in literature.)

In a fit of nonsensical amusement, she traipsed along the avenue, and counted the Starbucks she passed, two, three, four, and—to her utmost delight, there was a teeny tiny one nestled between a small library and an abandoned bank with a dilapidated façade, its automated teller machine conking lights in and out every ten seconds (yes, she counted).

It was five in the morning, and no one who valued their sleep was up, and this group apparently included the lone worker in the shop, who merely stirred and mumbled in his sleep, both of his legs propped up in one of the seven round tables inside (again, yes, she counted). Her eyes roved around the small coffee shop; everything was Starbucks standard, except, well, no one was there.

Except for the lone worker, who was still sleeping. In another fit of mischievousness-–apparently she was having quite a lot of those today, she took a seat beside him and stared.

Actually he was quite handsome. His dark hair was tied in a topknot, a patrician nose that suggested he was used to having his way, and a relaxed jaw. A single earring was in his right earlobe, and her finger itched to feel the rough texture of the tiny, blood red stud. She laced her fingers together. He was definitely a rebel, though the green apron that wasn't even tied together softened the image. She laughed softly. Definitely a rebel. And definitely your type, she could hear Sakura, her best friend/roommate/rival in all things and everything, 's voice in her head. Ino rolled her eyes. She had no type, for heaven's sake.

Her fingers were itching again, and despite her grip, she gave in to the sensation—a finger reached out and grazed the rough stud. And the soft skin of his earlobe.

He grunted.

She snatched her hand back.

"Wha—?" He started, opening sleepy eyes (she couldn't help but sneak a look—and discovered they were the color of dark, molten chocolate).

"Oh, it's a customer." The dark baritone was still laced with sleep, and Ino wanted to kick herself for the utterly romantic narrative in her head.

"Sorry didn't hear you—what happened to the chimes?" His feet were back flat on the ground.

She pointed at the door; there were no chimes, "Forgot to put it up, perhaps?" And she was utterly grateful that there was nary a squeak nor a hint of lack of normalcy in her tone.

He shrugged, a universal sign of oh, well, stood up, cracked a few joints as she continued staring up at him, walked towards the back of a counter and drawled, "What can I get for you, Ma'am?"

She smothered a chuckle at his utter failure and his utter nonchalance of it, and ordered a hot caramel macchiato.

"What's your name?"

Ino was known for that mischievous streak a mile wide, and she answered without any hesitation at all, "Ayame."

This was so going to be her favorite place.

(And he was so definitely her type.

Shut up, Sakura's disembodied voice in her head.)

.

.

Last Sunday she was Ayame.

On Monday she was Towako.

Tuesday she called herself Fujiko.

Just yesterday she was Rina.

And today, "Tohru," she declared, grinning cheekily at him. The blasted chit wasn't even ashamed, he thought.

And lazy though Shikamaru may be, once his curiosity was piqued, he will never stop until it was satiated. So he took step one.

"My name's Shikamaru. What's yours?" He looked at her straight in the eye, and regained himself after a split second's loss of composure due to him metaphorically swimming in the depths of brilliant blue.

"Tohru," she repeated, staring pointedly at the cup he was holding.

He sighed at the raised eyebrow, and the devious twinkle in her eyes. Persistent chick.

Ino could barely hold her laughter. Once she was out of the shop and safely out of sight, however, she erupted into gales and guffaws. Never mind the people who were looking strangely at the blond girl bending over with laughter at the corner of the street.

She finally finished with a hiccup, and then skipped on her merry way towards an AP Accounting class.

.

.

She wondered why she had yet to regale Sakura of her latest bout of crazy. Perhaps she wanted to keep Shikamaru to herself? But no matter. Anyway, her roommate wasn't home yet.

Ino shrugged and settled down on her desk, slaving over a couple of ledgers, as she was wont to do in her idle time.

She heard the front door open and close, and Sakura sang out, "I got more ledgers for you, Pig!"

"Cool!" Ino exclaimed. "So you were at your cousins'?"

"Yeah, cleaning their apartment. Honestly, without women, what'll men do?" Ino snickered. Sakura was in bashing exes mode again, which she did every once in a while, even if her last relationship was what, years ago?

Ino grabbed the ledgers from her best friend, wrinkling her nose, "What, after the hospital you went straight to their house? You smell of, well, both."

Sakura turned to face her, "And I don't understand why you keep doing those books for free."

She stuck her tongue out, "I like it, whatever. Same goes to your obsession for blood."

Sakura sniffed, "I'm taking a shower."

"Uh-huh," Ino said, eyes already on the second page of the ledger, deciphering the scrawls on it with apparent ease. "There are a lot of Starbucks shops," she affirmed. Sakura's cousin was perhaps a manager in one, she thought, as she took out a sheet of paper and began to make T-accounts.

.

.

Friday, and she came in wearing a…pink suit.

"Someone's addicted to Legally Blonde," he eyed her.

An eyebrow shot up, this banter was new. "Someone watched Legally Blonde," she countered.

His nose wrinkled in distaste.

She laughed, and said, "Sorry to disappoint you, though. Not a lawyer. Nor am I studying to be one."

"I know," he said, before he strode towards the back of the counter. "Yes, Ma'am?"

She had a puzzled look in her face before she placed her order, this time for Hikari.

.

.

A ledger book was open near the register he was manning, and there was no mistaking her penmanship in the financial statements stapled to a page. Her eyes widened slightly as her calculating mind took a turn, and realizations clicked into place.

"Yes, Ma'am?" She heard him ask, and slowly her head turned towards him. He was smirking.

There was a beat, before she smiled at him beautifully, and there was a minute constriction of his heart before she answered, "A tall, hot caramel macchiato. For Ino."

His smirk turned into a full-fledged grin and he said, "I know."

"How did you know— no, wait. I am constantly undermining Sakura's potential as a loudmouth. When did you know?"

Shrug.

"Sakura's phone's picture gallery is very organized. It wasn't long before I found out that the roommate who derived inordinate glee in doing ledgers and the girl with many names were the same weird person."

"...Damn that girl! Damn our vanity!"

"Sakura-chaaaan!"

"Naruto? What are you doing here with all of your luggage?"

"Shika's new girl, both of them won't admit they're in a relationship by the way, booted me out of our apartment. Said she's willing to trade roommates. Wouldn't tell me her name, though, and when I asked Shikamaru the bastard just laughed. She told me to tell you a code word, though: Forehead. Sakura-chaaaan. What does that mean? And why are you turning red?"

Silence.

"Don't kill meeeeeee!"

Fleeing footsteps.

"PIIIIG!"

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Edited a bit! Never knew the breaks weren't showing! So yeah.

The Starbucks series has come full circle. Unless there are other pairings we would like to read about...?

And I'm afraid there are continuity errors. The timeline ought to be latte boy and many names (simultaneous), then starbucks girl. Ought to be being the essential phrase in that sentence. Hmm.